Walking Towards Death
by His Lil' Half-Blood Princess
Summary: After killing Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape lost everything. During his last moments, he contemplates all those he loved and lost. One-shot, Snape POV.


_**A/N: A cute little Snape POV . . . . 2/20 of summer one-shots.**_

The battle hasn't settled down at all. Shots of green and red light come from every direction.

I was fighting too, in a battle with Arthur Weasley.

He never really liked me, but he was willing to give me a chance. He would tell Sirius to shut up sometimes when he would mock me.

After I killed Dumbledore, he wanted to strangle me at any given chance.

How could I hurt him? I had already cut his son's ear off and I didn't want to do that. It was a mistake.

So I went easy on him, I couldn't hurt another Order member. It was hard enough to blast back Minerva. It pained me to watch her get hurt, her, the woman who was like a mother.

Was. No more. I killed her best friend. I miss him too. She doesn't know that. She hates me.

Maybe one day, the truth will be revealed to her and she'll want me again.

I punished myself, like a house-elf, for hurting her and for hurting Weasley's son. I let Weasley blast me back a few times. My neck aches now.

Then I was pulled away from the fight for a few seconds. Lucius took me away. "He wants you," he said, simply. He was bruised and beaten.

I felt terrible for him.

He walked away.

Lucius was my friend too.

He helped me, he was like a brother.

Then he lost favor.

I was always the Dark Lord's favorite. When I was a teenager, he favored me because I was quiet and clever and obedient and when I disobeyed, I accepted my punishment. Lucius was probably right behind me, and he liked that. As long as he was in his inner circles, he was content.

And we were friends.

No more.

So I left the battle and went on towards the place where the Dark Lord was.

He was in the Shrieking Shack tonight, sitting there casually while the rest of us fought. He was probably stroking Nagini, telling her things.

In that crazy snake language.

I remember being only seventeen and hearing him talk to that animal, thinking he was demanding it to attack one of us. But it never did.

I remember him laughing at my widened eyes, saying I was naïve, and that Nagini wouldn't hurt me because she hadn't been told to.

I remember that hissing sound, haunting me.

I never liked that snake.

Or that language.

Potter spoke it too.

I remember hearing him speak to that snake five years ago.

It didn't bring pleasant memories.

Not that I have many pleasant memories. My life was a living hell.

Peace has always passed me by.

My childhood was peaceless. How do you expect to be happy when there's a drunk man in your house, who calls your name at night, saying he just wants to talk . . . .

Sure, if you use your fists for talking.

And how do you think you can find joy when you wake up one morning to find your mother bleeding to death on the carpet, right outside your room? How can you feel comfort when she's just died and all your stupid father does is say, "Clean up this mess and get me a beer"?

Then there was Hogwarts. For me, Hogwarts was heaven, but I was wrong about that when I got there. It's as wretched as home was. More tormentors, more mocking, more pain.

Then I went back and gave Potter revenge.

Let me torture his son. I'll protect him for Lily and torture him for Potter.

I'm clever enough to do both.

Dumbledore didn't approve.

"Get to know him first, give him a chance, he's only a boy."

Who ever got to know me?

Who ever gave me a chance?

No, Harry Potter is no different from his father, in looks, in personality.

Dumbledore said that he was more like Lily.

I doubt it.

And if it is true, I can't try to see the Lily in him anymore. He hates me too much to ever go back.

Not that I don't hate him.

He has his father's face and his mother's eyes. He's like a blend of what I hate and what I love.

It's torturous.

Speaking of torturous . . .

What did the Dark Lord want with me tonight? I doubt it's too encourage me. He must want something.

I know there is something he wants. I discovered it only just. I discovered something about Dumbledore's wand.

The Dark Lord had come up to the school earlier this afternoon. He came up to my office without being seen.

I have to admit, it was impressive.

He walked in without knocking. It didn't really matter, I was just writing something.

I was surprised though.

"My Lord!" I had said, bowing.

"Severus, I need something from these very grounds," he said, calmly.

"Of course, my Lord, anything!" I said. _Just don't take the students . . . or the teachers . . . or the house-elves, Filch is a terrible cook. And please don't take Dumbledore's portrait._

Speaking of portraits . . .

"The portraits," he said, making me feel nervous. "Where are they?"

I looked behind me. Dumbledore's portrait was empty. So was everyone else's. "I do not know, my Lord. Perhaps around the castle. A few of them have portraits outside of the school."

"If one returns, demand it go elsewhere," he commanded. I nodded. "I need Dumbledore's wand. Do you have it?"

I stared at him. "I . . . the wand . . . I don't have it, my Lord."

"Where is it?" he said.

"I don't know, my Lord," I said, watching him get angry. "-but I know someone who does," I added quickly.

"Who is it?"

"A teacher. Shall I go and ask?" He nodded.

I grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and went into Minerva's office.

She was at her desk. She looked up, pleasant for a moment, then seeing who it was, angry. She had a scowl on her face. "Hello, _Headmaster," _she said with contempt.

"Minerva, where is Dumbledore's wand?"

She stood up. "Why do you want to know? You killed him, isn't that enough? You took his life, why his wand?" Then she rolled her eyes. "To hang in your office?"

"Minerva," I said warningly. "Where is the wand? I have reasons for wanting it and I have no desire to explain them to you. I know you know where it is. You arranged the burial." She said nothing, but just stared at me. I pretended to be angry, but inside, I was proud she had held out that long.

Sometimes, I would compliment her, maybe get her to smile at me or talk to me.

I got no results.

"Minerva! _Where is the wand?"_

She sighed. "We buried it with Dumbledore. There." She slammed herself into her chair. "Go dig up his grave and get his magical stick."

"Thank you, Minerva," I said, ignoring her last comment. I returned to my office via Floo Network.

The Dark Lord was sitting on the sofa. "Well?" he said.

"My Lord, it is buried with Dumbledore." I reported and watched him grin.

"Splendid." He walked towards the door. "Join me by Dumbledore's grave in five minutes."

"Yes, my Lord," I said. Then he left.

I sat back at my desk. At that moment, Dumbledore, only Dumbledore, returned to his portrait. "Hello, Severus," he said casually.

"Hello," I said looking upset.

"I just had a chat with Minerva and the new gossip among the staff is that _you _want _my _wand." he said.

"I don't want your stupid wand, Dumbledore!" I said "The Dark Lord wants it. He was just here and he was angry, he wanted it. So I asked Minerva, she told me, and I told him."

Dumbledore's excited face faded away. "Where is Tom?"

"Digging up your grave, I expect," I said. "He said to join him in five minutes."

"And will you?" I nodded. Dumbledore nodded as well. I looked up at his portrait.

"Headmaster, do you . . . do you know _why _the Dark Lord wants your wand?" He said nothing. "Please. Tell me and tell the truth."

He sighed. "Do you know of the Elder Wand, Severus?"

I knew of it. "The Wand of Destiny?" He nodded. "Yes, I do. Why?" Then I paused, the truth deeming on me. "You mean . . . you owned the Elder Wand?"

"Yes."

"And the Dark Lord wants it!"

"Yes."

"But will it work for him?"

"Who knows?" Dumbledore replied. "You ought to get going." I nodded and walked towards the door. Then he added,

"Severus, remember, you're the Headmaster now."

I shook my head.

"Only to him, I am. Not to anyone else."

Then I left.

I have thought about it since then.

It won't work for the Dark Lord.

I own the Elder Wand.

The Dark Lord isn't stupid, he must've figured it out by now.

He must want to be rid of me now.

Then he'll own it.

Dumbledore set me up!

What an arse!

He set me up, making me slave around for years, saying I'll get my peace.

Then, he tells me to kill him.

"I'm thinking of you and the good of our world."

Sure.

Now I'm going to die.

But if Dumbledore tricked me, why am I not angry at him?

Furious?

Maybe . . . he _did _have a reason . . . .

But it does not matter anymore. I am nearing death.

I'm crossing the lawn, on my way to the Whomping Willow.

Again, I'm facing death by that tree.

Why couldn't I have died there the first time?

It would've made the world simpler, for everyone.

I am nearing the tree.

I stop.

I'm going to die.

I'm 38 and I'm going to die.

People would say, "Oh, how young!" But in reality, it's older than expected.

Years ago, on my birthday, I asked Dumbledore how many he thought I had left until I was murdered by my 'master'.

He said several.

I did a few more than several.

This is it.

"Be brave," I said to myself. "You can do this. You're going to get your peace. MOVE!"

I moved.

I was walking towards death.

I reached the Whomping Willow and entered into the Shrieking Shack where he was.

I realized how much I would miss living.

But I was done here. On this earth. Still, I wish I could've told Potter what he had to do.

Maybe Dumbledore's portrait can tell him.

"Here we go," I whispered. I crept inside.

I knew I would never come out.


End file.
